


Of Moments...

by paige_turner



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas, Elizabeth Bennet - Freeform, F/M, MIA - Freeform, Reflection, SSR Agents - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3371606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paige_turner/pseuds/paige_turner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if there was another reason why Peggy absolutely despised the Captain America Adventure Program?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

“Welcome back, Agent Carter,” Lorraine, Colonel Phillips’ secretary greeted, falling into step with me. “The Colonel would like to speak with yo– ” BOOM! The building trembled in fear of the horrific noise as various office items, along with a few of the people who had been standing closest to the lab were sent tumbling to the floor.

Thick, dark smoke billowed out of the opened blast-proof door smothering the damp air with a potent rotten egg smell.

“What the bloody hell was that!” someone bellowed, their silhouette slowly wading its way through the haze.

Out of the research and development laboratory stumbled a girl, the infamous Howard Stark in hand. Their faces contorted in disgust as they collapsed onto the floor. The smell which I could only assume was hydrogen sulphide, was enough to make everyone including myself, cringe.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Howard wheezed, turning to look at his partner in crime.

The youth coughed, "No kidding."

"STARK!" the booming voice of Colonel Phillips cut through the disgusting haze. Agents, assistants and scientists scrambled to resume their previous activities as the leader of operations appeared out of the smog.

The green-eyed youth leapt off the floor, promptly standing resolutely before the colonel even though she looked like she had just stepped out of a war zone. Lab coats were black with soot, hair dishevelled and smoking, their faces covered with what appeared to be ash, yet neither Howard nor the stranger looked the slightest bit embarrassed. Despite being the perfect representation of being caught red (or in this case black) handed.

“Agent Bennet, I see you’re having a blast,” Colonel Phillips glowered at the pair before turning his attention towards me, “This is Agent Carter. You two will be working closely with each other from now on. Grab your bags. They found a flat for you.”

“Yes, sir.” 

The colonel nodded once before turning and advancing back into the haze. "Someone open a goddammed window!"

Agent Bennet turned to face me, a polite, professional smile on her face as she offered me her right hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Agent Carter.”

Her grip was firm, her hands, although slightly dirty were soft and uncalloused. A strange trait for someone in the S.S.R.  
“And you, Agent Bennet.” My gaze shifted to the inventor as I released Bennet’s hand, “Mister Stark.”

“Agent Carter.” Stark smirked, looking every bit the charmer even though he was covered in muck, “Looking lovely as always.”

With a roll of her eyes, Agent Bennet pulled off her lab coat and hurled it at the multimillionaire's head. Howard easily caught the cloth missile in one hand before flashing a smirk his partner who rolled her eyes in response.

"Ignore him," she sighed, "He's a womanising megalomaniac with an ego the size of Texas."

Howard laughed, pulling the agent's curvaceous frame into a one armed embrace, “Beth, darling, I thought that was why you loved me?”

Agent Bennet rolled her eyes, batting his hand off her, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Stark. Excuse me, Agent Carter."

He merely chuckled in response as she strode past in the direction of the locker room. 

“She seems young.”

My words were more than a simple observation, though Howard seemed uninterested by my inquisition.

“Age and experience are two separate things,” Howard replied, offering me a final smile before he too disappeared from view muttering a collection of observations under his breath as the smoke and fumes from the gone-wrong experiment finally begun to escape through the few windows and vents.

It was going to be a challenging year. I could feel it in my gut.

A deafening whir filled the air, promptly sweeping any thoughts from my mind as the entire S.S.R Headquarters was plunged into a flurry of action, noise and flashing red lights. I quickly collected my coat, pushing my way through the crowd towards the main entrance.

Agent Bennet could meet me outside.

The car's brakes whined as the standard secret service vehicle finally came to a stop on the slippery road hardly two blocks away from the S.S.R. building.

The driver nodded a silent and sympathetic farewell as I stepped out of the car. 

"Thank you, so very much. Have a splendid day!" Bennet beamed, sliding out of the car behind me.

The sun hid from the huge ice-cold raindrops that fell relentlessly from the gloomy grey clouds which hung over the smoking city. The sandbagged streets were desolately quiet, the city folk more than happy to stay locked away in their cosy homes. A bitter wind whistled down the cobblestoned streets sending a shiver down my spine as my eyes followed the seen-better-days stairs up to the entrance of what would be my new shared living quarters. A little flat nestled above what used to be a store.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" 

I frowned, staring at the tired looking brick structure, "We haven't seen inside yet."

"I don't need to see it. I just know," Bennet smiled, grabbing her suitcase and hurrying up wooden stairs.


	2. Festive Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flatmates and festive cheer.

“Something smells divine!” I called, eyes peeking over the top of the newspaper. The smell of cinnamon filled the air mixing with the aromas of the roast chicken and steaming garlic potatoes that wafted around the candle lit room. My stomach grumbled as my mouth watered at the thought of a home-cooked meal.

Agent Elizabeth Bennet or Betty as I had come to know he was a superb cook, and while her organisation could be improved, she was delightful company. At home -that is what we had come to call the cosy two-bedroom flat above the abandoned bookshop- she became almost a different person. More relaxed, with a smile of some degree always on her face. Many times, I had caught her humming a tune I was unfamiliar with as she worked on her next artistic project or bustled about the kitchen cooking on her prized stove. Her long hair, an intricate mixture of chocolate, bronze and gold strands was always pulled back into a braid or ponytail away from her rosy freckled cheeks that, for tonight, had been freed from their usual covering of make-up.

“It’s a family recipe,” the eighteen-year-old beamed, continuing to stir the steaming mixture that was this evening’s dessert. Betty paused in her movements flashing a subtle glance at me over her shoulder, “Are you sure you’re okay with me inviting Howard for dinner?”

“It’s perhaps a little late to be reconsidering, Bett. I am quite capable of tolerating Mister Stark. When he isn't his more than charming self, I would almost consider calling him a good friend.”

She sighed, “I know he’s difficult, but he is quite harmless. We were talking about our families, home cooked meals, and well, it is Christmas Eve. I hate the thought of anyone being alone. If Phillips were here, I’d have invited him too.”

The combined ideas of Stark allowing himself to be ‘alone’, and Betty inviting every ‘lonely’ person to dinner made me chuckle. “If you could have, you would have cooked enough biscuits to feed an entire army.” From the depths of my memories, tidbits of a mission danced across my mind.

Just before we shipped out to the front lines, Betty had baked the biggest batch of oat biscuits I had ever seen. She had decided to pack the majority of them in her bag claiming they would last longer than our standard rations.

“That was one time!" Bett pouted, making her way towards our small timber dining table with a handful of mismatched cutlery. "Besides, I initially made them for us. It wasn’t my fault we ended up having to leave our packs behind.”

“Yes, it was all terribly convenient,” I responded, my eyes flitting about the room in an attempt to avoid the brunette and her piercing gaze which pinned me in my place.

Knock! Knock! The thumping on the front door abruptly drew Betty's attention away from me. 

"I'll get it!" I cried, seizing the opportunity to flee from the friendly fire I was experiencing. I stood from the couch and hurried to the front door before Betty had even had the chance to free her hands. 

The brass hinge screamed in protest as I heaved the weather door open, revealing a well dressed Howard Stark complete with a stack of wrapped gifts in hand.

His cheeks were rosy from the cold though he still grinned at me, “Peggy. You're looking as beautiful as always.”

“Howard, glad you could make it. Please, come in,” I took a step back, gesturing for him to enter. He quickly set the gifts down by the door and sauntered into the living room as though he owned the place.

“Howard!” my flatmate grinned, greeting our friend with a warm hug, “So glad you could make it.”

“I would never turn down a home-cooked meal,” he replied, eagerly returning her embrace.

“Please both of you take a seat, dinner’s ready,” Bett smiled, twirling back towards the kitchen.

A beat of silence fell over us as Howard scanned the main living area.  
“Is that a stocking, for me?” Howard quizzed, making his way over to the curtain covered windows.

“Betty’s idea,” I explained, taking a seat in my usual chair, “Something about needing Christmas cheer.”

Betty had let her creative flare loose for the occasion. Our flat, while lacking the typical Christmas decorations - like a tree, still managed to hold a festive ambience. A wreath made from scraps of material decorated the apartment door. Handmade olive, grey and khaki coloured stockings hung from the windowsill above the small collection of wrapped gifts, and a large red candle burned in a bowl made from pine cones in the centre of the table atop an aged table runner that Bett had embroidered with boughs of holly.

"It's nice."

Howard cautiously made his way towards the collection of gifts. Without disturbing the piled presents, he attempted to identify which package might have belonged to him, moving his head this way and that.

"Howard, leave the presents alone!" Betty chastised as she placed three plates filled with creamy mashed potatoes, carrots and roast chicken on the table. Howard grinned like a lunatic and bustled over plopping down onto the seat opposite me. 

Freshly baked homemade rolls and a jug of steaming gravy joined our little feast along with Elizabeth who was finally free of her hideous floral apron. 

Betty folded her hands in prayer, before glancing up at us, “Would you mind if I said grace?”

Howard sheepishly retracted his hand from the bread rolls and copied Bett’s actions, his face turning an amusingly light shade of pink. I bowed my head, taking in the peaceful stillness that radiated through the room.

“Lord, we ask you to bless this food which we are about to receive. We thank you for all you have given us and ask that you continue to watch over our friends and family during this troubled time.”

“Amen,” we chorused, offering each other a smile as we collected a bread roll from the dish.

“This looks splendid, Beth.” 

“Yes, it smells delightful.” Howard agreed as he violently tore at his golden bread roll.

“I called in a favour from my Uncle for the chicken," she explained, "It’s the best I could do, considering rations, but you know what they say make do and mend.”

Howard smirked, right hand disappearing into his expensive looking jacket. My brow rose slightly in question. From the smart brown jacket came a full bottle of bourbon. 

How he had managed to stow something like that in his inner pocket was a mystery to me. 

“Then I propose a toast…”

A smile stretched across my face at the thought of some proper Christmas cheer. Ignoring the lack of uniformity in our collection of glasses, Stark poured a decent nip and a half into each before replacing the lid on the dark bottle. 

“To making do,” he toasted, raising his glass high.

“To making do!” we echoed, our glasses coming together with a clink.

The brown liquid-gold was rich and sweet on my tongue – proof of its age.  
Howard sighed in satisfaction, resting his glass back on the table as Betty coughed, a look of surprise written on her face. 

“Now, that’s a proper drink!” she stated, turning the glass in her hands, green eyes mesmerised by its contents.

“Oh that’s right… are you even old enough to drink, Beth?”

Betty glowered at the smart-mouthed genius, sending the pair of us into a round of laughter at her expense. 

“You two are hilarious,” she pouted, stabbing at her carrots in annoyance while trying her best to ignore our shaking forms.

It had been a running joke at the S.S.R.  
Elizabeth or MI6 (her recruiting agency), as some of the agents had come to call her, was the youngest member of the team. No one let her forget it – probably because her reactions to the prodding and teasing were completely hilarious or utterly adorable. 

“That’s it, laugh it out. Remember, I could kill you with anything in this room if I wanted to.” Her cheeks, bright pink with embarrassment, did nothing to assist her in looking even remotely threatening and only served to make us laugh harder.

“Sure, doll.” 

“Oh yes, better sleep with one eye open,” I replied, finally gaining enough composure to dig into my festive feast.

“You two are horrible,” she muttered, shaking her head as she took another sip of her drink.


	3. Days Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty was a creature of habit, always following the same patterns. Until one day, she wasn't.

RING! RING! The obnoxious ringing of the phone ripped me from my peaceful slumber. I slide out of bed, stumbling over a misplaced slipper or two in my haste to end the blasted noise.

"Carter," I answered, trying my best to focus on the voice coming through the line. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and swallowed down a yawn.

"Agent Carter. Colonel wants you and Bennet here for a briefing at 1800 hours. You ship out tonight for a month."

"We'll be there."  
The call disconnected and I slammed the receiver back into its place with a sigh of annoyance. 

Our days off were a currency far more precious to the both of us than anything else the government could offer. 

My days off varied. Sometimes I would make the most of a soft bed by catching up on as much sleep as possible. When I wasn't catching up on lost sleep, I would venture home to visit my parents. Mother tried to put on a brave face though things had never been the same since that terrible day. When I cared little for ghostly memories, I would browse through some shops or take lunch in the park nearby. 

Betty, however, could be found in one of two places.

The University was the best place to start. When sleep evaded her, Betty would bury herself in books – typically regarding the topics of science and medicine. She frequently conversed with Howard on the need for medical advancements, proposing new methods and procedures to increase survival rates and hygiene. To say the least, Howard had been so impressed with her ideas that he had offered to employ Betty as the Head of Medical Science in Stark Industries. She had never given him a proper answer, and he had never pressed her for a reply. That's how they worked.

However, on the odd occasion, when I would wake in the later hours of the morning to an empty house, Bett could be found tucked away amongst the branches of the ancient Willow at our favourite park – sketchbook and pencils in hand. She would stay perched up there all day, pencil busily recreating something only she could see.

She was a creature of habit, following routines and patterns. Much to my dismay today seemed to be the exception. All of her hiding spots were vacant. We were due to be briefed in an hour, thanks to a sudden development that was evidently cutting our day-off short.

The evening had set in. The sun had sunk away in the west painting the sky in an array of dark shades of black and fading blue.

"I promise the music is good," a familiar voice carried upon the wind. Up ahead a group of soldiers, American’s by their accents, and their partners strolled towards the local dance hall. A vibrant flash of emerald green, a familiar tangle of curls and painted ruby lips, spoke to a handsome blue-eyed soldier in the lead.

“Elizabeth! I have been looking for you for an hour,” I growled in frustration marching up to my partner.

Betty’s eyes popped in surprise at my sudden materialisation.

The American made a move to step in front of Betty, though refrained, halting my impending verbal lashing for now.

“Carter, come join us!” Susan, one of the administrators from the central office greeted. 

I shook my head at her, focusing back on my partner, “We have to go, it’s urgent.”

Betty at least had the decency to look sheepish, “Sorry, I didn’t know… Uh, can you give me a minute?”

I nodded, taking four steps back to stand under the light of the lamppost as the rest of their group continued down the street.

Betty turned to the clean-shaven man and offered him an apologetic smile, “I do need to go. I'm sorry, but I am sure you will easily find someone else to have that drink with, Sarge.”

He shrugged good-naturedly, “It’s alright, doll. I’ll see you around.”

She offered him her hand to shake, “Stay safe.”

He slowly raised her hand and pressed his lips to it, letting them linger slightly before finally releasing it with a debonair smile. “You too, Betty.”

I could practically see Betty swoon like a lovesick idiot as her stupid doe eyes watched the soldier stride down the street to catch up with his buddies. 

Stepping forward I grabbed hold of her arm leading her away towards our apartment. 

"I searched everywhere for you. All your usual spots. Though of course, you weren't there," I huffed, "Since when could you dance?"

Betty shrugged a goofy smile stretched across her lips. 

“If I didn’t know any better I would say you’re head over heels.” My comment held more bite than I originally intended.   
Betty did not notice. Instead, she smiled to herself as she begun humming a tune I had never heard before and all but danced along the path beside me.

"Do you even know his name?"

"Of course, I know his name, Peg," she smiled up at me, "It's James."

I rolled my eyes and tried to rid myself of such frustrations in an attempt to be mentally prepared for what was to come. Anything that involved a month was not going to be a walk-in-the-park mission.


	4. Missions...

Betty had proved her worth as a partner on more than one occasion…

We had been running reconnaissance in France for the better part of the summer. On more than one occasion, we had found ourselves in the company of one of the smaller Maquis that made up the French Resistance fighters - much to Betty’s delight.  
She flittered about the camp like a butterfly, excitedly conversing with any of the militia members who could spare the time to chat so that she might perfect her rapidly expanding French vocabulary.  
Some of the women shared stories with Betty, telling her of their homes and times before the war. However, the lads were her main source of conversation. They were all eager to converse with the rosy-lipped woman, volunteering to instruct her in a form of on-the-go lessons that quickly taught her the importance of proper pronunciation. These unconventional and impromptu ‘French lessons’ often resulted in the tutors simply taking turns to distract their pupil while the others ogled her tempting figure, eyes skittishly flashing to and from her face so as not to get caught.

I swallowed a chuckle allowing my tired muscles to relax against the cool surface of the rock that I had long since claimed as my combined chair and pillow. The warm sun smiled down at me from its place high in the midday sky. A bird of some type called from its perch in one of the shrubs that inhabited this region. Beads of perspiration lazily trickled down my face, disappearing into the collar of my shirt. The air was warm and filled with all the scents of a French summer. I closed my eyes allowing my other senses to come to life. 

“Angleterre , venez jeter un oeil à ce!” (England, come and have a look at this!) Mathys, the leader beckoned. I pushed myself up from the ground, dusting the grass from my pants as I walked towards his table of maps. The old man’s eyes smiled mischievously at me, his weathered hands clasping a piece of parchment that looked to have seen better days. “Comment vous sentiriez-vous écraser un parti ?” (How would you feel about crashing a party?)

I blinked dumbly at the grey-haired leader for a moment, trying to determine whether I had heard him correctly. “Une partie?” (A party?)   
He nodded, placing the letter on the table in front of me before gesturing for me to take a seat on the half-splintered stump beside his second-in-command.

“Pourquoi les Allemands ayant un parti si loin au sud?” (Why are the Germans having a party so far south?) I took hold of the crumpled and worn paper trying to decipher the messy scrawl of someone’s handwriting.

He shook his head. “Ce est une lettre de l'un de nos forces du Nord . Ils ont entendu qu'il y avait un agent dans le sud et envoyé mot sur une succession et un parti qui est arrive bientôt. Ils disent qu'il ya certains fichiers importants conservés à ce domaine . Fichiers concernant ce qu'on appelle un Hydra. (This is a letter from one of our northern forces. They heard there was an agent in the south and sent word out about an estate and a party that is to happen soon. They say there are some important files kept at this estate. Files regarding something called a Hydra.)

My eyebrows disappeared under the brim of my hat for a moment at the idea of Hydra being in France. All of our other intel had enlightened us to the fact that they preferred to operate within the sanctuary and safety of those areas which were distinctly under German control. “Bennet, you’d best come look at this!”

Betty appeared by my side in a heartbeat, green orbs scanning over the scribbled text. “Ils me rendent malade ! Les soldats et les civilians- diable , le reste de l'ensemble du monde sanglante pourraient mourir de faim et ils auraient encore consciences claires .” (They make me sick! The soldiers and civilians- heck, the rest of the entire bloody world could starve to death and they would still have clear consciences).

“Ce est la guerre pour vous , Papillon.” (That’s war for you, Butterfly.) Mathys sighed, flashing her a tired smile.

“Eh bien ... Je crois que nous avons un parti à y assister.” (Well... I believe we have a party to attend.) The grin that stretched across my partner’s face was almost sadistic, far too pleased and bloodthirsty for someone who rumour had it, supposedly struggled to shoot her target during her first and evidently last solo mission.

Mathys turned to his second-in-command, “Durant, passer le mot. Nous passons au crépuscule . Angleterre et Papillon auront besoin de transports du Nord.” (Durant, spread the word. We move out at dusk. England and Butterfly will need some transport North.) The stoic man nodded and strode away towards a collection of soldiers that rested under the shade of a tree. “Jean, amener certaines fournitures!” (Jean, get them some supplies!) Mathys ordered, catching sight of the militia’s own little spy as he attempted to hone his skills. Jean, the gangly-limbed boy who had been subtly eavesdropping on us nodded, scampering away between rocks towards the well to fetch us some water for our journey.

In that moment, Betty had also managed to slip from my radar disappearing as quickly as she had appeared.

“Ella me recuerda a mi nieta. Tenía la misma pasión y la luz de sus ojos.” (She reminds me of my granddaughter. She had the same passion and light in her eyes.) Mathys spoke, his grey eyes wandering into a world of his memories.

I frowned as my eyes scanning over the handwritten letter once more, “It’ll get her killed if she isn’t careful.” Mathys did not acknowledge my response, his vision too clouded with unshed tears as his grief and memories consumed him. 

Dusk came quickly and before too long we had set out from our hiding place into the growing night towards our transportation. 

The party was to be held at one of the grand estates they had recently overrun. A kind of lavish affair with wine and finery reserved only for a glamorous party for the powerful and wealthy, or rather those who supported the Axis and their activities. As a result, Betty had spent the better part of the day designing and sewing us dresses from materials taken from our unused parachutes. Mathys had conjured up two necklaces from somewhere that would certainly help us pass as wealthy socialites. Our northern friends proved both resourceful and helpful. They had found an expensive looking vehicle for the evening and one of the soldiers had volunteered to be our chauffeur, knowing it would help us blend in a lot better than we would if we arrived on foot. 

 

Betty with her dazzling smile and mysterious eyes looked breathtaking in black silk gown she had spent the best part of a day dyeing while I had been out finalising plans.

“Are you ready?” her soft voice drew my attention away from my pistol.  
“Are you?” I inquired, scanning over her figure.

Flashing a cheeky smile, she lifted the skirt of her dress to reveal her favourite pair of throwing knives strapped her thigh.

There was a moment of silence between us as what we were about to attempt sunk in.

“Peggy?” “Betty?”

She blushed out of habit for the supposed rude action of speaking over someone, gaze dropping to the dusty wooden floorboards of the stable the Northern force had commandeered for the night.  
“Sorry, you first,” she muttered.

“Be careful.”  
She nodded at my order, her pinned curls bouncing slightly. “Peggy, if something goes wrong… I’ll make a distraction or give you a signal or something. You get out, and get as far away as you can.”

“I don’t need protecting,” I countered, annoyed by the very idea that I was unable to help myself. With more force than was necessary, I pushed my spare pistol into its thigh holster, pulling the skirt of my dress down into place.  
“I know.” Her words held an element of steel that was typically absent from her musical voice, “But I refuse to let us fail our mission.” Two unwavering emeralds locked with my own, both determined and unyielding.

Betty and I bit goodbye to our friends who had made the journey with us as we stepped into the car. As soon as we were seated, the car rolled out of the cover of the stable into the cool night air.

 

*****

 

The château was alive. Every window was illuminated with a rich golden light. The further we cruised along the hedge-lined drive the louder the music became. It was cheerful and light. Something classical that could be danced to or used to mask the chatter of the gathered socialites. Armed guards, much like the ones posted at the ornate gates we had passed moments ago, stood tall – clearly more concerned about possible surprise resistance attacks as they scanned the darkness for any signs of movement rather than watching the glittering guests.

Betty played her part perfectly, effortlessly working the crowd from the moment she had entered the room, the perfect distraction for a textbook style operation. 

Slipping away down one of the many hallways I quickly found a staircase that would lead me to the offices in the upper levels. According to our sources, these offices held a variety of classified and vital information regarding the Axis’ technological developments and troop movements. 

For the main office it was surprisingly simple, a mahogany desk littered with letters and papers, a filing cabinet, a large wardrobe, and a coffee table and lounge positioned by the window.  
Making sure to close the door behind me I set to work scanning through the piles of documents.  
A map of the layout of a facility, personal letters to and from his wife, some outdated official orders…

My blood ran cold as my eyes settled on a document regarding a report on the Nazi’s deep science division – HYDRA.

I grabbed my notebook from the hidden compartment in my purse and began scribbling notes using my new invisible ink pen. Before long my satchel was filled with copies of notes and the maps, I had uncovered. It was important to analyse the information to decide what was and was not important, then return things to exactly as they were. If the target knew that someone had been here then our efforts would be for naught. The enemy would hurry to adjust plans, alter strategies and change codes. 

Everything was going smoothly until a messenger arrived carrying a scouting report and new orders.

The Major - completely oblivious to the fact someone who was now seeking refuge in a closet, had previously been rummaging through his desk - was happy to discuss the details quite loudly and without any restraint. God bless whatever vintage they were serving tonight. My heart felt as though it were beating out of my chest. Around me hung coats of all descriptions – some military, some heavy and expensive looking furs, all of which smelt of a disturbing combination of tobacco, vodka, gunpowder and mould.

“Die Generaldirektion möchte Sie sehen. Mir wurde befohlen, die Sie mit mir zurück zu bringen.” (The General wishes to see you. I was ordered to bring you back with me.)

The Major harrumphed, his chair groaning as he pushed away from his desk, “Lassen Sie mich meinen Mantel zu bekommen.” (Let me get my coat.)

The floorboard creaked as he made his way toward my hiding spot, muttering under his breath about missing a good party. I reached for my pistol, slowly pulling back the hammer as I lifted my arms to take aim.

A huge blast rattled the very foundations of the building. A chorus of feminie screams and some rapidly spoken German phrases had the two men rushing out of the room in search of the disturbance.


End file.
